


VMars Promptober 2018

by TheShorty



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: A little crossover with Leverage, A little crossover with iZombie, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst, Canon Compliant, ER Halloween night shenanigans... so trigger warning for pretty much anything that could happen, Even managed a little kinky-sex-as-intimacy here too! (pay attention to beginning chapter notes), Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, It's not a threesome... it's a more-some, Missing Scene, Multi, Other, Pre-Series, Promptober 2018, Really... what is VMars without angst?, We all knew I'd get there eventually, depends on the chapter, mention of drunk driving/alcoholism, mention of overdose, so please pay attention to chapter notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 19,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheShorty/pseuds/TheShorty
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles that follow the prompts from AdorkableAuthor's VMars Promptober 2018 list! Rating likely to change as chapters get added.None of the work is beta-read. Just fun, fast writing.Comments and concrit always welcome!





	1. Ghost of Envy

From the pitch and volume of the squeals, you’d think there was large group tween girls in the Echolls’ living room.

You’d be wrong.

Since the noise piqued your curiosity, what do you think you’d find by peeking into the room as the screams reached their peak intensity?

You have a hard time holding back your own laughter at what you find.

Duncan Kane, standing on an oversized chair with a blanket slung over his head and a flashlight under his chin, his face glowing an eerie mix of pinkish-orange skin and gray-black shadows.

Across the coffee table, lit by a makeshift “campfire” of white and yellow votive candles she insisted on for ambiance, Lilly Kane bounced on the other chair swinging a throw pillow back and forth in front of her as she squealed.

Veronica Mars’s head is thrown back against the armrest of the sofa where she has stretched out, laughing so hard tears streamed down her cheeks and pooled in her ears and hair, sucking in high-pitched breaths to try to calm herself.

And finally, Logan Echolls, sitting on the floor, hunkered down into a ball against the couch squealing as loud—and high pitched—as Lilly but without all the extraneous movement (for once in his short life).

Not the Halloween scene you expect in the living room of this giant mansion in one of the richest neighborhoods in the country. Not the most unusual thing you’ve seen in this space, either.

Your survey of the room shows that Veronica is the first to gain some control over herself. Turning on her side, she gently places her hand against Logan’s shoulder.

“Hey.” She presses more firmly against his shoulder when he doesn’t immediately respond. “Logan. Hey.”

When his body starts to lean into her hand, she scoots down to reach his other shoulder more comfortably. “You okay?” she whispers as he clenches and relaxes his jaw rhythmically.

His head flops back against the couch after a moment, partially supported by Veronica’s arm, and you see his throat convulsing for a brief moment before he mutters. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Your eyebrow raises, almost of its own accord, when Veronica curls herself around Logan’s head, as if her small body can shield him from their friends as she continues to whisper in his ear. You can’t hear what she’s saying, but she succeeds in making Logan smirk and his limbs relax out of his fetal position.

At the end of the table, Lilly’s eyes narrow and spark when her two friends continue their conversation without her, a dangerous look you recognize immediately.

“You two done flirting?” The last word spits from her mouth with unmistakable disdain. You move further into the room, feeling unusually protective of these two. You can’t explain it, as you have no real connection to any of these young teenagers.

Veronica’s face flushes as she pulls her arms from around Logan’s shoulders and sticks her tongue out at Lilly. You notice she doesn’t deny it, though.

In a move you don’t expect from the boy, Logan ignores Lilly completely. Instead, he scoots over, moving away from where Lilly sits, before patting the floor beside him and glancing at the tiny blonde on the couch.

A smile flits across your face as she lowers herself beside him, leaning just enough to press her shoulder against him.

Lilly just can’t give up the ghost, though. “Ugh. Since you two won’t stop, let’s see what the spirit world has to say about your flirting, shall we?”

When Lilly pulls out a Ouija board, you know the part you’re meant to play here. As the friends close their eyes and Lilly places her hands on the loose pointer, you take your place at the board.

“Ouija, are you there?” she asks.

You don’t even have to do the work as she pulls the disc over to yes. “Open your eyes, guys, it says yes!” she exclaims, voice full of false excitement.

Once all eyes are squarely on her, she continues. “Halloween spirits, what do you think of Logan and Veronica flirting and ignoring m... uh, their friends?” The young teen stumbles over her words but recovers quickly.

Not wanting to completely freak her out, you use the barest touch you can to guide her hands. Her face becomes pale as she realizes she’s not truly controlling the board.

“G-O-O-D.”

You move away from the board and watch as Lilly’s face turns red. Duncan looks confused as Logan laughs boisterously and leans over to kiss Veronica on the cheek.

You feel yourself settling back into the night as light sparks in Veronica’s eyes, the light you know she’ll need to face the weird, hard, angry world that’s coming for them faster than any of these friends know.

You finally let your laugh escape, a slight gust that chills the room and ruffles the curtains as Veronica scoots closer to Logan and quips fearlessly back at her friend.

“Guess even the ghosts know that green isn’t your best color, Lilly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Flashlight


	2. Silence

“Just… stay here for a minute, ok?” Veronica’s hand slid off the slick table at the nodded half-smile response. She walked back a step or two, biting her lower lip to hide her smile, before turning around and beelining for the office behind the counter.

“Hey boss!” she chirped. _Tone it down, V. Too bright and she’ll know something’s up._ Shaking her head a little at her probably-weird self-talk, Veronica rapped her knuckles across the door and leaned partially into the office toward the overflowing desk of her boss.

“If you want, I could close up tonight. I know the little one has been sick and you’ve been putting in overtime anyways…” she let her voice trail off as she finally met the woman’s gaze, focused on keeping her eyes wide and innocent.

Her boss’s eyebrow arched and her lips curved into a knowing smirk before her chin jutted towards the counter. More specifically, to the dining area just past the counter. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your boyfriend that walked in about 10 minutes ago, would it?”

Veronica wasn’t fast enough to stop the light blush and wide grin from escaping this time. Instead of responding, she leaned harder against the doorframe and averted her eyes from the older woman’s knowing gaze.

Another minute of scrutiny passed before the woman gathered and straightened the strewn papers into a tidy stack. “Sounds good, Veronica.” Grabbing her purse, she fished the spare key from the bottom of the drawer. “I’ll get this from you tomorrow when you come in, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” Veronica’s voice was solemn. “Anything special that needs to be done tonight?”

Reaching the door, the woman flipped the sign so that “Closed” faced out before turning back to her young employee and waving towards the young man sitting at the center-most table.

“Just make sure you clean up well,” she said and then raised her voice to carry across the Hut, “and that you don’t get _any_ bodily fluids near the counter, okay?”

Veronica’s jaw dropped as her face turned cherry red. Her stuttered response was lost as the bells jingle on the door. Her boss disappeared into the darkness of the parking lot.

She rested against the door for a moment, staring out across the near-empty parking lot before she flipped the lock with a slightly shaky fingers.

Large, warm hands wrapped themselves around her waist and she turned to hide her face in the chest behind her. His chuckle was warm  as he pulled her close, dropping a quick kiss against her temple.

“That counts as her blessing, right?” He kissed her temple again before journeying to her neck, kisses soft and sweet as he turned them into the small hostess podium.

Veronica’s head tilted almost automatically, giving him better access to her neck, but her eyes were glued to the door.

_Is this normal, Veronica? Is this really what you want?_

The face in the glass didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for the day: Closed


	3. Speechless

Four days.

It had been four days since Weevil punched Logan for smashing her headlights and Wallace had smirked at Weevil while they walked away with the “only” copy of the incriminating Sac’N’Pac tape.

When did her life become like a weird children’s song?

Veronica Mars shook her head at the thought and ducked to look back through the viewfinder of her camera. Another night, another stakeout at the skeeziest motel in town.

The creep she had been tailing for the last three nights had just left his room with the ice bowl, but whomever he was meeting stayed carefully inside. No money shot... yet.

Her head bounced softly against the headrest moments before she heard the rumble turning the corner behind her. A quick check of the rearview mirror confirmed what she already knew—PCHers.

She pressed her lips together into a thin line, one side tilted up in a look of boredom, and tucked her chin down towards her chest to complete the look.

Maybe they wouldn’t notice her pulse pounding in her throat. Hopefully she could ignore its deafening presence in her ears.

“Veronica Mars.” The drawl wasn’t quite Southern, but it wasn’t full SoCal either.

“Weevil.” She responded dryly. “You and your _amigos_ are blocking my shot.”

A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision and, without breaking eye contact with the leader, she casually dropped her arm outside her window, Mr. Sparky in hand. “Care for another demonstration, _Felix_?” She ignited the stun gun twice to further illustrate her point.

“Uhh...” Felix stopped mid-shuffle. Weevil raised his eyebrows as he glanced down, then  looked back at the tiny blonde with a tight smile that barely contained his laughter.

After another momentary standoff, the leader of the PCH motorcycle gang jerked his head towards the other end of the street. “Head out, y’all. The World’s Tiniest Detective and I have something to discuss.”

Watching as the bulk of the bikers inched down the street, Veronica concentrated on slowly exhaling, hoping it would finally—and surreptitiously— quiet her thundering heart.

Weevil eased the kickstand down and dismounted his bike as the last of his boys moved out of hearing range. _Not that they could hear much over the rumble of their bikes_ , Veronica thought wryly as she worked to quiet the echoing rumble in her own head.

She studied him carefully as he moved closer to her car—the way his neck tattoo changed as he walked, the faint stain on the shoulder of his leather jacket that was only visible when the streetlight hit it just right, the slight fear in his eyes despite the controlled smugness on his face.

_What could he want with me? Or maybe from me?_

In what she is starting to think of as a nervous gesture, he swiped his thumb across the tightened muscle of his jaw before finally meeting her gaze.

Veronica Mars was left speechless, maybe for the first time in her 2.0 existence, by what Weevil said next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: Demonstration


	4. Age of the Geek

“Can’t I just do it for you?” Mac’s head drops softly onto the keyboard in front of her. “Why? Why do I let her talk me into these things?”

“Come on, Ghostworld!” the blonde surfer nudges her with his elbow, resolutely ignoring her last question. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you do…well, anything, really. I want to… you know… be able to do it myself eventually, maybe. Ronnie said you were the best person for the job, but between you and me… I think you’re the only person she knows that does any of this…techie stuff.” His mitt of a hand waved obscurely at her computer screen.

Her snort triggers an unexpected flood of memories. Her, longer hair in brighter colors, on the floor by the couch, kicking his and ~~Beav~~ … Cassidy’s ass at pretty much video game they played. Her cheeks puffing a little when she snorted around the food in her mouth when he said something particularly… insightful or humorous. (Mostly the latter, but Dick isn’t splitting hairs currently.) Her, open and laughing, sitting between Ronnie and—Walter? Wally? Whatever, Ronnie’s other friend—as they traded verbal barbs with one another. The glint in her eyes when she would win the battle (but never the war… the war always went to Veronica Mars).

His thoughts are interrupted as she sits up and cranes her neck in a wide circle, dropping her shoulders and huffing a quick exhale. “Fine. Sit.” Her head tilts toward the chair beside her. “But don’t call me Ghostworld, please. My name is Mac.”

_Mac._

Dick Casablancas’s head bobs softly in agreement as he scoots the chair closer towards her. “Mac.” His voice is soft as he repeats her name a few times, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth. His nodding becomes more resolute until he smiles at her. “Will do.”

Her fingers, thin and agile and…competent, fly across the keyboard before she turns the screen for him to see. He realizes he’s staring at her hands and feels heat cross his face.

Another heartbeat, then he shifts his eyes to the screen.

_Mac._

An hour, then another, pass faster than he expected. They’re not, like, BFFs or anything but she’s not sitting stiffly beside him or talking at him like he’s a kindergartener anymore. He’s stopped calling her “dude”.

_Mac._

Dick runs one hand through his hair as the other thrums against the table beside the computer. He sighs. “I.. uh… I think I need a break.”

Mac tosses him a knowing smile—not condescending or judgmental or predatory—and he doesn’t know what to do next. It’s been a long time since someone besides Logan just… smiled at him, like he was a normal dude and not a spoiled, dumb, rich kid.

_Mac._

“Maybe we should call it a day. We can meet up in a few days and go over the next part. It’s a lot to take in, but if you can master this basic stuff, the rest will be easier.” Mac shuts down the machine they’ve been staring at and begins to gather some papers into her bag. “How about Saturday afternoon? I have some other work to do for the next couple of days, but should be done by then.”

“Sure, Mac. That sounds good. Do I… uh… do you want to text me? Or I do text you? I.. uh.. I don’t think I have your number, though.”

“Why, Dick Casablancas, are you trying to get my digits?” Her eyebrow quirk says ‘teasing’; the heat in his face says ‘busted’. He picks at some imaginary lint on the sleeve of his cashmere shirt. She smoothes an non-existent wrinkle from her skirt.

Before he can answer, she pushes her card towards him, emblazoned with the Kane Software logo and reminding him of how out of his league she is: “C. 'Mac' MacKenzie, Software Engineer, Team Lead—Research and Development”.

“My cell number is on the back.” Her voice is gentle and smooth, wrapping around him like the aural equivalent of his shirt. She rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment. Dick just stares at her card. “See you Saturday.”

Before he can say anything else, she’s out the door and he knows he’s in trouble.

_Mac._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: Cashmere


	5. So, you're not a serial killer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from the last ficlet...

“You're not going to, like, try to harvest my organs or something are you?” Mac’s eyebrow raises but she schools the rest of her features into something she hopes resembles a neutral mask.

Blonde hair swishes as Dick shakes his head, a flurry of emotions crossing his face in rapid succession—surprise and shame and a little shy and something else she doesn’t want to think about too hard right now. Now she feels a little bad about teasing him.

“Naw, Mac,” his voice remains carefree despite the hesitant look now haunting his eyes, “Nothing like that. Just… you know… dinner and drinks, maybe some dancing or whatever you want to do after dinner. You know, as a thank you for all time you've spent teaching me these last couple of weeks.”

“You don't have to do that, Dick,” Mac starts, but Dick cuts her objections off, unintentionally, when he snorts and drops his chin to his chest. She thought she had begun to understand him a little more over the last few weeks, but right now she isn’t so sure.

He messes with the buttons at the wrist of his dress shirt as the tense silence grows between them, popping them in and out of their holes a few times before finally rolling the cuffs up to his elbows. His tie has been long abandoned, stuffed into the pocket of his suit jacket slung haphazardly on the back of his chair shortly after he sat down. Mac had accepted his explanation that he finished some board or investor meeting before meeting her, but she becomes more suspicious the more he fidgets with his clothes. He is obviously uncomfortable in the get-up, and Mac had never known to Dick Casablancas to do much that made him truly uncomfortable.

“I’m not doing it because I have to.” Dick finally mutters, glancing at her face and away quickly before continuing in a more normal tone. “I mean, if you don’t want to then of course we won’t, but… I just… you’ve been more than patient with me and I’ve taken up, like, all of your free time and stuff for the last few weeks with all this teach-me-tech stuff. I figured it would be nice if we could hang out without you having to play teacher to the imbecile or whatever. Just have a night on the town, my treat. Talk about anything but techie stuff.”

Dick becomes emboldened with each passing phrase, raising his head to meet her eyes, his shoulders dropping away from his ears as he tilts his upper body towards her and leans casually against the arm now planted on the desk in front of them.

He apparently misreads her slight frown at his self-deprecation, because he adds a disclaimer. “Except maybe gamer stuff. There’s some new VR stuff coming out I’d love to hear your thoughts on.” Finishing his soliloquy, his shoulders hunch and his eyes flicker between her face and whatever he’s staring at over her shoulder a few times before finally meeting and keeping her gaze.

Mac lets a few heartbeats pass, watching his face move as he struggles with what to do next. The creases of his forehead deepen and relax in an interesting wave pattern as he contemplates options. She tries to figure out what he might do. Will he make a funny face at her to break the tension? Or just smile? Maybe he’ll laugh and pretend it was a joke. Pouting a little wouldn’t be far out of his repertoire either.

Finally, she can’t keep the smirk from overtaking her face. Playing as if she’s just figuring out what his intentions are, she widens her eyes and gasps into the hand now covering her mouth. “Dick, are you asking me, poor little ol’ Cindy Mackenzie, out on a date?”

The fake surprise is replaced by a full-blown grin at the man beside her as he stutters and pink fills his cheeks.

Placing her hand on his forearm gently, she tries to calm him down. “If you want to ask me out, Dick, then do it. You don’t have to hide it behind some kind of weird reciprocity for services rendered.”

She’s not sure she’s ever seen Dick look so surprised. It’s actually quite endearing, that this grown man, who is probably not used to being turned down or actually caring if he is rejected, is so worried that she won’t accept his invitation. It makes her feel powerful, in some twisted way, and special and weirdly protective.

Dick is apparently flabbergasted at her pronouncement because he just stares at her, slackjawed and glassy eyed. She hasn’t actually left him speechless since the end of that first meeting, she thinks, so she gives him a few moments to gather his thoughts. When he doesn’t say anything after about a minute, she gently pokes his forearm. “So, are you going to ask me out, Dick? Or do I need to do the honors?”

This seems to do the trick, knocking him out of whatever reverie he escaped to and back into the present. Sliding his arm under her hand until his fingers wrap around hers, he looks at her—strong, sure, smiling now—and asks the question to which they both now know the answer.

“Mac, would you do me—lowly surfer dude whose league you are totally way out of—the honor of going out with me on, like, an actual date? This Friday?”

Her smile matches his—big, toothy, goofy—as she leans until her lips are millimeters from his. Eyes locked together, she feels the cool air pull past her lips as he takes in a quick breath and holds it. “I would love to, Dick.” She says softly before softly pressing her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: Harvest


	6. Hers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very different from my normal fare, and not what I had planned at all. But muses do what muses do, yanno?

_It was only a kiss._

 

How did she do that?

_One look. Her lips press against mine._

_Sweet._

_Soft._

_Chaste._

 

_It was only a kiss._

_One kiss. She pulls away, but it's like she takes my breath, my life, my very soul with her._

_I can't… she can't._

 

_I pull her back._

_This time I kiss her, desperate and fearful and wet and urgent._

 

Who knew my soft underbelly was actually at my throat?

_Her hands. A thumbnail rakes across my skin as her hands grip at my shoulders._

 

Eviscerated by barely a scratch, flayed open, exposed and vulnerable to…what?

_To Her, and all her contradictions._

_Her perceptive scrutiny, but she doesn't understand what she sees._

_Her hopes and dreams, now inextricable from her fears and nightmares._

_Her rage and vengeance, fueled by_ _passion and curiosity._

_Her snark and wit, branding me with nothing more than a flick of her tongue._

 

How can she bleed me dry with only a kiss?

_It was only a kiss._

_It was only a kiss._

 

 

Why did it have to be her?

_She’s complicated._

_Our relationship is complicated._

_We are vast, we contain multitudes._

_Layers of pain and laughter and sadness and joy, of youth and naiveté and growing up too soon and too hard._

_Layers tangled and twisted and just too damn complicated._

 

It was only a kiss.

_Yet here I am._

_Angry and joyful and fearful and excited and hurt and scared and ready._

 

It was only a kiss, yet here. I. Am.

_Instantly and unequivocally._

 

 

_It was only a kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: exposed


	7. Tomorrow's Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex ahead! Be warned and please skip if you are not of legal age and all that jazz.
> 
> This snippet was dreamed up in response to [EllieBear's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieBear/pseuds/EllieBear) [One Hundred and One Uses for Throw Pillows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222091)...

They could really use a better notification system than the clothes strewn across the foyer and shared living area. What happened to the old tie on the door, or—if you wanted to go more modern—a quick text message telling him to avoid home for at least the next few hours?

God. Hours. He had hours to listen to this shit now, unless he wanted to bail.

He didn’t really want to bail, though. He didn’t really have anywhere else to go. He hasn’t seen step-mommy dearest since shortly after Cass… but he hasn’t been back to the house just in case she’s squatting there until something better comes along. (She better enjoy it while it lasts, too, because he put it on the market last week and expects it to go quickly.)

The frat house… since it’s the middle of midterms week, it’s pretty lame right now. Dudes with their noses in books, studying and talking about GPAs and shit. Totally _not_ why Dick came to college.

A long moan from the room across the way interrupted his thoughts. Dick crossed to the couch and threw himself back against it, rooting around behind his head to adjust the throw pillow into a more comfortable pile. Reaching behind him to grab at the lump at his lower back (hoping it was the remote so he could drown out the porn sounds from next door), he pulled out a wad of clothes—Logan’s shirt, Ronnie’s panties—and groaned.

The scream that came next—“Fuck, Logan. Shit!”—went straight to his groin. He looked down at the tent forming in his shorts, partly surprised and partly disgusted.

It was _Ronnie._ And _Logan,_ for God’s sake.

The panting and moaning continued—intensified—interspersed with names and curses. He bounded off the couch in search of the remote, desperate to drown out his BFF and the diminutive devil who had bewitched him.

But Dick’s imagination was far better than his search and rescue capabilities. His shorts became increasingly tight as his mind’s eye filled in the scene—unbidden and unwanted though it was—which was inspiring the cacophony currently blasting through the suite.

Ronnie, naked on her back, legs spread with Logan’s face between them. He was assuming this currently because he could hear her much better than he could hear Logan, which means Logan’s loud mouth was probably otherwise occupied right now.

Would her nipples be dusky pink or that light tan color? When they pebbled up, hard and taut and begging for attention, did the areola around them wrinkle into a tight mass as well, or did they swell and puff into sensitive cloud puffs, highly responsive to every breath, every stroke?

Did she arch her back as Logan’s tongue worked her over, pressing her tits against her own arms for friction and sensation? Or did she curl her shoulders up as she dug her hands into the sheets or held her thighs open for him?

How did Logan’s hair—always kind of messy in that styled-with-gel kind of way—feel as she ran her hands through it? Did she fist her small hands in his hair to guide his head where she wanted it? Or did she card her fingers through his hair, nudging and pushing him into place?

(People thought Dick’s hair was long because it was the surfer style, but it was mostly a good ruse. The reality was that he kept his hair long because he enjoyed the feeling of a hand running through it, using it as an anchor or guide… their hands in his hair as they made out or he fucked them with his tongue or his cock.)

“Fuck, man.” Dick muttered under his breath, the discomfort in his pants driving him to lay back on the couch again and pop open his fly to release some pressure. This is not how imagined his afternoon going. He was not drunk, for once; being drunk might have made this easier.

He sucked in a quick breath at as his cock twitched with the soft brush of his hand across it as he worked the zipper free.

As his mind’s eye wandered down Veronica’s body, splayed on the bed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what does it feel like to be the focus of Logan’s considerable and intense attention?

 Logan’s hands, fingers nimble but strong, alighting across her body, mixing sensations from gentle pressure to rough twisting, well-manicured nails scraping against skin, the slight burning sensation spreading undeniable pleasure through sensitive nerves.

Was his tongue as agile and quick in the bedroom as it was outside of it? The variety of shapes Logan’s tongue took when he licked his lips flashed through Dick’s mind. How did it feel when he consciously drew his tongue across sensitive flesh, moving through its many shapes in pursuit of the one that elicited…

_That,_ Dick thought as a series of incoherently moaned syllables came through the walls (Veronica, he hoped). Dick groaned in unison with the other party (Logan, he was almost positive). He pictured what they looked like as they fucked: Logan thrusting deep and fast into Veronica, only to slowly withdraw before starting over again. Both writhing and panting at the sensations running through their body, concentration and ecstasy writ large across their faces and etched in the lines and curves of their bodies as they moved together then apart.

His mind wandered away from Logan as his hand teased his cock through his underwear.

What does Veronica taste like? How much of that vanilla scent that lingers in the living room… the kitchenette… Logan’s room… lived on her skin, could be tasted on Logan’s tongue? Did her wetness hide between her lips, where you had to tease between them to taste it or spread it around, or was she more a river, her wetness soaking through her underwear and onto the sheet below, inviting— _demanding_ —you to get lost in the taste and smell of her.

Was Ronnie a talker? She had to be a talker. Dick moaned at the thought of her voice, breathless but somehow still with an undercurrent of steel, as she gave directions—no, commands—on exactly what worked for her and made sure he knew how he made her feel with every touch and kiss.

His hand became more insistent, reaching into his boxers to stroke himself, his hips bucking into his hands. He was harder than he remembered being in a long time. He tried not to think about what it meant that the couple in the other room could have such an effect on him. He _couldn’t_ think about that. They weren’t Logan and Ronnie. They were just a nameless, faceless couple.

Like listening to porn instead of watching it. Right. Right?

The noises had quieted, and Dick struggled to keep his own noises under wraps as his hips thrust harder and faster against his hand. Pictures of Logan and Veronica flew through his mind, keeping pace with the rhythm he set for himself.

Veronica, kneeling on the floor, blue eyes wide as she looked up, sucking lovingly on the cock in her mouth.

Hands teasing and taunting across Veronica’s breasts until she moaned and begged for more.

The look in Logan’s eyes as he kissed and nipped down to take a nipple, biting hard before soothing it with his tongue.

Their faces as they came together and came, together.

Tightening his fist around his dick and pulling the throw pillow from behind his head to smother the noises he could no longer suppress, his orgasm washed over him in time with the movie in his head.

Dick moved the pillow, sucking in the cool air as he stroked his dick softly through the aftershocks. Dick moaned as he pulled his hands from his boxers in his post-orgasmic haze, strangling the end of it as he realized that if he could hear them, they could hear him. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

He stumbled from the couch to his bedroom, holding the throw pillow in front of his chest and his shorts by the waistband to cover any evidence of his… indiscretion. Just in case either of the lovebirds came out of their room.

Where did this come from? And what was he going to do about it? What _could_ he do about it?

As he dropped into his bed, he decided he’d figure it out tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: throw pillow (Ok, that's two words, but still)


	8. Diagnosis: Trouble

Veronica's hand instinctively covered her ears as the microphone feedback squealed. At least te older man standing behind the podium had the decency to look embarrassed. Testing the mic again, he tapped it twice with his index finger before stepping forward.

“Ah. Um. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center.” The small auditorium erupted in slightly-rowdier-than-polite applause and a few hoots, before the older man brought the room back under control.

“I'm Dr. Van Clemmons, director of graduate medical education and current chair of the emergency medical services. Those of you who are emergency and trauma residents will get to know me particularly well over the next 3 years.”

“Goody.” The wry utterance came from the slouched form beside her, and Veronica couldn’t stop the snort that escaped.

To be quite honest, she had forgotten he was there in her awe and excitement of the day. He’d slid into the seat shortly after she sat down, but hadn’t said anything to her or anyone else. She figured he was a radiologist… or maybe a pathologist. Neither were known for their social graces.

Pulled, rather rudely she might add, from her otherwise unvarnished excitement, she took the moment to study the man who she was apparently going to be spending a lot of time with over the next few years. She tried to surreptitiously examine him, but that was difficult considering he seemed to now be staring at her. It wasn’t a typical stare, one where she would catch him as he glanced away when caught, where they would both look a little apologetic for getting caught.

No, this man’s stare was palpable; she could feel it as his eyes searched her face, moved down her body to take in her conservative pantsuit and sensible shoes. (Both of which, she might add, contributed to the small meltdown Lilly had in their apartment this morning and to yet another rendition of the yellow cotton and red satin lecture she’s heard countless times since high school.) Veronica focused on keeping her face forward and her shoulders relaxed, hoping to conceal the effect of his stares from him.

_Fake it 'til you make it._ Thank you, Daddy dearest, for the years of lessons in subterfuge.

“Our main priority here at Cedars-Sinai is quality patient care, and to that end…” Veronica had very little trouble tuning out Dr. Van Clemmons as his speech began to repeat lectures received by the whole room at least twice a year for the last 3 years. CLABSI. CAUTI. SCIP. HCHAPS.* The alphabet soup was already nauseatingly boring in her young career, despite their importance on hospital reimbursement. There's only so many times you can hear the same schpeel on the same National Patient Safety Goals* before you feel like an actual robot instead of someone who put a lot of time and energy (not to mention debt) into medical school.

Movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention. Mr. Stares-A-Lot had finally turned back toward the front, meaning it was her turn to do a little triage of her own.

At first glance, he was a typical white guy. Short brown hair, not quite clean cut but not too long or messy either, carefully styled to look like he didn’t care about its style. Deep set brown eyes, flitting quickly around the room. The rest of his body was still and almost board stiff, but constant movement of his eyes revealed a natural frenetic energy.

She let her eyes roam his body for a moment, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the slight shuffle of his legs as he tried to get comfortable in the seat. His clothes—dark shirt, gray slacks, black Oxfords—looked unassuming to those who weren’t paying attention.

But to those who were (and Veronica was), the clothes also screamed _money_. His button-down was carefully tailored, the buttons a matching shade of blue but subtly textured to give visual contrast. There was a slight color difference on the seam stiches on his pants. His shoes were worn but not scuffed, with the warmth of leather well kept.

Veronica looked away for a few minutes, making a note in her notebook about the specific policy regarding the placement and removal of indwelling urinary catheters, then resumed her study of his face in her periphery.

His nose was slightly crooked with a telltale bump at the bridge—it had been broken in more than one fight in his life. His clean shave revealed distinct nasolabial folds framing smooth lips and a well-defined cupid’s bow.

Her knuckles blanched on the armrest with the effort it took not to trace his lips.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

A smirk pulled at the lips of Richie Rich. His tongue flitted out to wet his lips, like he knew exactly where her mind was, before he slouched further into his chair.

Leaning over, she stuck her hand out and whispered softly as to remain unnoticed by those around them. “Veronica Mars. Apparently, we're going to be colleagues.”

A heartbeat or two passes before he accepts her hand. “Logan Echolls.”

His voice, less snarky than in their first exchange, was warm and slightly husky, and apparently was directly connected to her libido. She shifted her hips in her seat as she gave him a curt nod, hoping the heat she felt on her face was not a full blush.

Normally, Veronica Mars missed the signs of trouble until she was already caught in its web… but not this time. This time she already knew.

Logan Echolls was trouble.

Delicious, dangerous, irresistible trouble.

_Well, crap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: Patient
> 
> Note on the alphabet soup: CLABSI: Central Line Associated Blood Stream Infection; CAUTI: Catheter Associated Urinary Tract Infection; SCIP: Surgical Care Improvement Project; HCHAPS: Hospital Consumer Assessment of Healthcare Providers and Systems. In the US, these are measures upon which hospital reimbursement from Medicare, Medicaid, and other insurance providers is based, along with the traditional practice of "insurance discounts". The first three (CLABSI, CAUTI, SCIP) are good requirements to meet in the most general sense--we do want to do what's best for the patient and prevent unnecessary infections and complications as much as is feasibly possible. The last (HCHAPS) is not a good requirement for reimbursement, because it pushes medicine to bend to the desires of the patient instead of treating the patient's issues based on best practices and evidence-based algorithms. It feed the problem of antibiotic resistance, prescription drug abuse, unnecessary exposure to damaging procedures (like x-rays, CAT scans, and even exploratory surgeries), among many other things. As it stands, Medicare and Medicaid only pay about 73 cents for every dollar spent on the patients they insure, so dropping the meager reimbursement even more because patients aren't happy they didn't get antibiotics or narcotics or an immediate diagnosis creates a huge problem for access to services for those insured under these programs. That's all I'm going to say about this right now, but just know... I have opinions lol.
> 
> This is a fun AU that I may or may not continue at another point in time... I may even continue it in snippets during Promptober.


	9. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s why we work, and why we never could.

The good thing about the Shadows is that people are generally afraid to look too closely. We’re enculturated to be afraid of things that skitter around where we can’t see. It was probably a good evolutionary trait, keeping us alive for the hundreds of thousands of years.

Living in the shadows is more than dealing with tainted side of civilization—the occasional unsavory element and, more often than not, the stupid and selfish element. It’s more than knowing and acknowledging this side of our existence.

There are people—we’ll call them Lights—who can look into the Shadows, try to expose them and “fix” them, without becoming someone who lives in them. They aren’t born in the Shadows, aren’t forced to live there by necessity or design. Yet they aren’t afraid of the shadows. They step into the Shadow, finding what they want or need, maybe even light the shadow with their spark for a moment in time.

The spark never lasts, it seems. There is never a fire when the spark comes from the Lights. But still, Lights play in the dark, fighting an endless battle in the Shadows. They are unprepared for how darkness absorbs all Light. Their moral code, in their eyes, is forthright and dichotomous. The paradox of their tendencies—Machiavellian at best—is ignored or outright dismissed in pursuit of the Greater Good.

 

Veronica Mars is a Light.

 

Veronica thinks she knows the shadows, that she has lived in them. She hasn’t though, not really. Veronica always stood out, demanded attention and interest even when she wanted to be bland and ordinary. She was Light, forced into rooting through the Shadows by necessity but never forced to stay.

Still today, she wades into the shadows, wigs and false personas, fly-by cover stories spewed while she’s batting her baby blues and occasionally wielding her taser when her not-quite-stealth isn’t stealth enough.

I wasn’t surprised when Veronica asked for my help.

Light always, inevitably, need help from those in the Shadows to complete their missions, to brighten their spark and make sure it’s noticed. To do the things they aren’t capable or prepared to do.

It was only a matter of time.

Veronica Marks is a Light. I’m not. It’s why we work, and why we never could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: Shadow


	10. Potions Don't Always Work

“Woah, woah, woah. Hold up.” Dick yelled at the couple sitting in the SUV, holding a finger up toward them before turning around and walking back into the house.

“What now?!” Logan’s exasperation matched that of the tiny blonde sitting in the car, but for once she wasn’t the first one to express it.

Two minutes later, Dick loped towards them, finally opening the backseat and diving in with a grunt. Scooting to the middle, of the seat, he spread his arms and legs out and laid his head across the backrest, looking not unlike a human starfish as he sprawled himself out. “I almost forgot the most important accessory of the night!”

With a flourish, he drew a flask from his inner coat pocket. Logan groaned and stared straight ahead, trying his best to feign ignorance of the daggers his girlfriend was shooting his way right now.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Veronica voice was tight but not aggressive (for once), “We’re picking up Mac on the way.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Ronnie,” Dick was quick to retort, “she’ll fit perfectly under my arm.”

“That will make it easier for her to stab you.” Veronica muttered under her breath, mostly succeeding in keeping her focus despite the smirk crossing Logan’s face or the feeling of his hand as he found hers and intertwined their fingers. “I hope she remembered the pocketknife I bought her for Christmas.”

Unable to resist, Logan chimed in. “And that her dress has pockets.”

Veronica pressed her lips together in a thoughtful line before nodding in agreement. “True. Maybe I should have gotten her a thigh holster for it, too. Just as precaution, you know.”

“Seems like something Mac would love.” He responded with a shake of his head as his eyes rolled.

Twenty minutes later they rolled up to the front entrance of Mac’s apartment. Dick had the courtesy to at least unsprawl half his body so that Mac could fit more comfortably on the seat beside him.

“Uh, Dick, do you know what Polyjuice _is_?” she asked him when he offered her a drink from his flask.

“Of course, Mackie!” His response was a little too excited and that made the other three friends go very still. Either he was about to surprise the hell out of them, or they were going to have yet another story to add to the “Dick is never gonna live this down” list.

“It’s the stuff that helps girls be open to, like, more than just them in bed. Like a threesome or more… if I’m lucky. I bring it to all the parties I’m invited to… you never know when it will come in handy.”

Logan, Veronica, and Mac laughed the rest of the trip. Dick was going to be very confused when they walked into the Catholic chapel for the christening of Wallace’s baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: I almost forgot


	11. One Voice to Ruin It All

_Another day, another sleazebag_. Veronica pulled the tight, glittery top over her head, then surveyed her makeup in the mirror one last time.

Mac’s incredulous voice came from somewhere deep in her closet. “Are… are _these_ the shoes you were looking for?” A hand poked out from the side holding a pair of knee-high boots, shiny black PVC with a 4 inch platform and even higher heels.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, grabbing the shoe from the outstretched hand. “Please tell me the other one is there too?!”

Before she even finished the sentence, the matching boot pops out from behind the curtain of clothes.

“You’re the best, Cindy Mackenzie. What did I ever do without you?”

“You might have to remember, quickly, if you call me Cindy again.” was the rueful response from the half-extracted body.

The brunette flopped onto her back and ran her fingers through her messy mohawk, watching Veronica sit on the edge of the bed to slip into the heels. “How do you fit so much stuff in this tiny closet?! It’s like Mary Poppin’s bag meets the Dursley’s cupboard in there.”

A single shoulder shrugged as the petite blonde tossed a glare towards one of her oldest friends before focusing again on tying the laces up the back of the shoes. “Well, I don’t think any of this is what Miss Poppins or the Dursley’s would have just lying around their places. And I’m almost tired of the Harry Potter jokes from you two. Almost.”

Mac snorts and takes in her friend and part-time boss’s costume for the night. “At least you got it this time.” Glittery top, short but not quite mini skirt, hooker heels. Her makeup was a little dark around the eyes in a slightly exaggerated smoky eye, but natural otherwise.

Finishing the last tie, Veronica stood and made her way—a bit precarious at first but steady after a few steps—toward the full-length mirror on the closet door. She took the time to simultaneously study her outfit for the night and her friend in one long, assessing look. “Y’all are never going to let me live down mixing up Gollum and Dobby, are you? A girl mixes up one set of elves and it’s the end of the pop-culture world around these places.”

“Only one of them was an elf.” came a honeyed voice from the door, warm with laughter.

Spinning toward the unexpected visitor, Veronica teetered precariously before regaining her balance. She glared at Logan for a moment before breaking into a slow, mischievous smile.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Logan said, shaking his head.

“What?!” Both women asked simultaneously, one in curiosity and one in feigned innocence.

 “Don’t do it, Veronica.” was Logan’s only response, arms folded across his chest defensively as Veronica stalked towards him, a bobcat on the prowl.

“Don’t do what, Logan?” She added a little extra swish to her hips and widened her eyes a bit more as she approached her boyfriend, playing up the innocent-yet-sexy schoolgirl she often used on marks.

“You know what.”

“Mac doesn’t.”

“Good for her. I’m glad she gets to live such a nightmare-free existence.”

Mac’s confused face darted between Logan’s serious face and Veronica’s impish one. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but she knew better than to interrupt whatever trouble her best friend was instigating.

Veronica finally stopped in front of Logan, staring wordlessly at him for a long moment before throwing her hands up in defeat. “Fine!” she said. “You win. _My precious._ ”

The perfectly creepy vocal rendition of the character from the movie took Mac by surprise, and she couldn’t help the fully body shiver or groan it shook loose. Logan’s face wrinkled up in disgust.

Veronica cackled at them both. "Worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the Day: Platform


	12. Truth or Dare?

“Okay, _Veronica_ , it's your turn. Truth or dare?” A blast of cold spread through her veins at the almost imperceptible lilt in Lilly's voice as she said her name— _Vuh-RON-ica_.

Lilly could lie with the best of them, but Veronica Mars saw right through her. One of the downfalls of being practically lifelong best friends.

Setting her jaw and steeling her voice, she met Lilly's pointed gaze. “Truth.” Logan groaned softly beside her. Duncan didn't make a sound as he turned to open the next bottle of champagne, seemingly unsurprised and unaware of the silent standoff between his sister and his girlfriend.

“You always go for truth, Veronica. Don't want to mix it up a little, take a chance? I bet you'd enjoy it…” Lilly taunts the blonde from where she has settled across Logan's lap, her feet drawing small circles where they rest on Veronica's thigh.

The slight teenager may not match Lilly in exuberance or extroversion, but when it comes to stubbornness and pride, she stands toe-to-toe with the billionheiress (a blended word dreamed up by Lilly, who swore saying “billionaire heiress” or “heiress to billions” took up too much of her precious time and energy).

“Then you should have come prepared or picked a different game, Lils.” was the mild response from the unfazed friend.

Logan hid his smirk in a kiss to Lilly's throat.

“Fine. Turnabout's fair play, then. What did you think of Logan the first time you saw him?”

Veronica pursed her lips, staring between Lilly and Logan for a moment before she grinned at her friend, knowing what she expected and what she was about to be told were two very different things.

“Uh-oh” came Duncan's voice from the bench where he was being mostly ignored. “That's Veronica's ‘you’re not as smart as you think' look. She gives it to Dick all the time.”

“And he deserves every one of them.” Veronica tossed her hair behind her shoulder and shot her boyfriend a quick smile before focusing on the couple beside her again. “You really want to know what I thought about Logan the first time I saw him?”

Lilly rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated huff. “That's what I asked isn't it?”

“I thought that money must not buy style, because no one with a bowl cut, or who let their kid _get_ a bowl cut, could ever claim the moniker of stylish. I mean, I may not be much into fashion but even I know that one.”

The three friends shared confused looks with one another before Logan piped up. “Uh, Veronica, I didn't have a bowl cut the first time we met.”

The blonde smirked at him, remaining silent and studying his face as he tried to figure out the riddle.

Her giggle filled the air as understanding dawned on his face.

“ _People_?”

Veronica shook her head. “ _Cosmo_. My mom had a subscription.”

“Ah, yes. Aaron Echolls, manly and monogamous. Promo for some “action hero to accidental dad” movie he was promoting.”

“That is _not_ what I asked, Mars!” Lilly interjected.

Veronica's grin came back full force. “Actually it is, Lilly. You asked—and I quote—what I thought the first time I _saw_ him. You didn't specify that it had to be in person. The first time I saw him was in a _Cosmo_ article. Bowl cut, _overalls_ , and tears running down his face with a pony in the background. How can you cry at a _pony_ , Logan?”

She let out another snort of laughter as the usually cocky boy before her looked sheepishly from under his eyelashes. “In all fairness, I had barely turned three when that picture was taken, and ponies look really scary when you're, like, a foot tall and barely potty trained. Also, nobody asked my permission before printing it in a national magazine.”

Veronica reached over to pat him on the shoulder, her face growing solemn as she did. “You were still cute, even if highly unfashionable and barely potty trained.”

Veronica scrunched her nose up at him in a cheesy grin when he playfully shrugged her hand off his shoulder, then turned her attention to her boyfriend sitting on the other bench seat. “Alright, Duncan, your turn. Truth or dare?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: bowl


	13. Coding Queen

Veronica looked carefully over the short message. _Target dead. ^D_

Burner phone, three calls total—one in, two out—plus the one text. Moving to the copy machine in her dad’s office, she copied the print out, tacking the copy up on the portable bulletin board now propped on the coffee table in front of her and placing the original back in the file.

Sitting cross-legged beside the folder on the couch, she stared at the message. _Did he really sign it? Would Duncan be that stupid?_

Logan would never ask, she knew he wouldn’t. But she could tell it was eating at him, too. As much as he hated his dad, no matter his feelings on how he treated him growing up, on his murdering Lilly two years ago or attempted murder of Veronica just a year ago, Logan wanted to know who killed him.

Whether to shake their hand or get revenge depended on the day.

Something still didn’t make sense, though. The data Mac got on cell towers for the incoming and outgoing calls of this phone never left the Neptune area.

The only number it communicated was also in Neptune. It couldn’t be Duncan. Duncan fled the country. She helped him do it. He couldn’t be back.

It was too dangerous.

Not for him, but for little Lilly. So, Veronica stared at the message, trying to figure out what else it could signify.

The creaking of the office door startled her out of the merry-go-round of her thoughts. “Hello?” She smiled as the bright streaked brunette walked through the door.

“Q! Come on in, take a load off. I’m trying to figure out what this message could mean. I think the target was Aaron Echolls. The timing of the message and the ping off a tower close to the Neptune Grand make that a solid assumption. But I can’t figure out what the D at the end is supposed to mean, though.”

Her friend flopped down on the other end of the couch, then leaned forward to look at the message again.

“End-of-transmission.”

Veronica turned a questioning gaze on her friend. “What?”

“The message. That up arrow looking thing with the capital d... It means ‘end-of-transmission’. Target dead. End of transmission. It’s used in some of older coding to let the processor know that’s the end of code for that particular process, so it can move on to the next section. With it, all the loose ends are hopefully tied up into neat bows.”

A grin spread across Veronica’s face as her eyes went wide. It made sense.

Grabbing the file and her bag, Veronica ran to the door.

“Sure, I’ll take a rain check on dinner, Bond!” she heard her friend call after her as she raced down the stairs.

She had a henchman to surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: dead end. I obviously took some punctuation liberties. ;)


	14. Blown

“Really, Lianne?!” Keith’s voice trembled with the effort it took for him to keep his voice at a semi-reasonable volume. “You picked her up from school drunk? You could have gotten killed! You could have gotten _Veronica_ killed!”

By the end of that sentence, his volume was far from controlled. Lianna Mars stared at him, blank faced as she passively accepted the admonishment.

The woman before him was a shadow of the woman he once knew, the woman he once loved. Her cheeks were sunken in, dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was limp and as lifeless as her eyes. Her shirt hung off her shoulders, slightly wrinkled with a stain of…something yellow and lumpy near the collar. Mustard maybe? Doesn't matter.

Finally meeting her gaze, his entire body deflated as he whispered. “You need help. You can’t do this anymore.”

Standing in the living room, they faced on another like two prisoners of an unwinnable war, once friends and partners and now…

He doesn't finish that though.

Finally, without a word, his wife disappears into the bedroom. She returns, overnight duffle in hand. Opening the door, she casts one last look at her husband. “I never meant for this to happen.”

He watched as her shadow, the shadow of a shadow, recede as she move further away from the front porchlight.

With a pop, the lightbulb filament burned out and darkness overtook the porch. Instead of grabbing a new bulb, Keith’s heavy footsteps echoed through the now empty hall as he walked through the living room and into his bedroom.

It could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt word of the day: lightbulb


	15. Hidden Talent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sex, mild bondage ahead, so please be age appropriate for the content!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's really no plot here.
> 
> Though a different POV, this could be seen as the extension/expansion of either [You Can't Hide Forever from the Thunder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838506/chapters/36883722) or [I Like (Doing What She Likes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251914) worlds.

God, Logan is killing me. Looking down between my legs, I glare at him as his eyes twinkle and his brows bob. I'm pretty sure the effect is ruined by my loud moan as he grazes his teeth against my overly sensitive clit.

The prickles of sensation are quickly soothed by warm, soft swipes of his tongue, circling the engorged tissue twice before flicking quickly across its tip. Over and over again he repeats this circuit—circle, circle, flick—until my focus narrows again to only the sensations sparking from between my legs. My eyes are glued to his head between my legs, the grace with which his head moves as he works, the teasing in his eyes when he glances up at me.

If I had control of my hands, I'd twist them in his soft, short hair and hold him where I need him. If I could, I would straddle him, grinding into his face or on his cock until I flew over the peak into oblivion. As it stands, my hands are cuffed to the bedposts. A long piece of rope wraps figure 8s between my thigh and calf, keeping my knees bent. The ends of the rope are tied over the side of the bed, leaving my legs spread open, exposed with no way to stop my lover from doing with me as he pleases.

And apparently tonight, he pleases to bring me over and over to the brink of orgasm without relief.

I know I could stop him at any time, that he would stop teasing and let me fall. I also know that part of me enjoys this.

Every time he stops, I feel myself gush more. The slick squish of his fingers—first two, now three, maybe four?—as he fills me over and over echoes through the room. But my favorite is his face, gleaming and dripping as he rests it again my inner thigh, the happy satiation in his smile as he waits for me to recover from yet another lost orgasm.

He nips at my upper thigh, and when I barely whimper, he bites harder. My whimper turns to a groan. His laugh, low and dark, carries through the room as he runs his fingers through a fresh gush and places them against my lips.

“How you doing?” he asks me, withdrawing his now clean fingers from between my more than eager lips. His other hand tucks an errant and sweaty lock behind my ear, cupping my cheek to study my face as we talk.

“Well, I'd say I'm frustrated, with good reason.” I stick my tongue out at him and he smirks.

“Seems like you’re enjoying frustration. I could stop if you wanted, I guess…” his voice trails off as his smirk turns sadistic.

My eyebrows raise as my own smirk spreads across my face. “You could, but you know you’ll get payback this weekend. How far do you want to push it?”

Laughing, Logan leans down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips. I watch as he continues to trail at my body. His fingers open my lips, and my back arches as I feel the first whisper of his breath across my clit. He chuckles against my skin and it spreads like wildfire through my core. I think he could feel my bones shaking under his fingers if he knew what he was doing to me.

“Let’s take care of your problem, then, shall we?” His voice is soft as his fingers tease my entrance again. He pulls them away to lick an easy stripe from stem to stern and back again, before sliding his fingers in further.

The lazy pace he sets with his fingers and tongue build me up again slowly. Achingly slow. He shifts his body to wrap his arms around my upper thighs, holding me steady, pressing my hips against the bed. My toes curl against his ribs and my thighs began to shake uncontrollably.

 

That man has a marvelous tongue. Three orgasms worth of marvelous, in fact.

 

Payback is still a bitch, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: peak


	16. Earth for Mars

Keith’s eyebrows knitted into a concerned look as he walked around the back of the house, following the sound of his daughter’s singing. Veronica wasn’t necessarily fond of being outdoors for no good reason, especially during the hottest and most humid month of summer in Neptune. Given that their yard was professionally manicured and Logan was on a two-week deployment, he couldn’t think of any reason she’d be just hanging out on this hot, humid summer day.

Coming around the corner of the house, his jaw slacked a bit in shock of the picture before him. Veronica, kneeling on the ground, covered in dirt. In front of her, a large rectangle of freshly tilled earth. Sitting in rows were a variety of seedlings. He could identify the basil, tomatoes, and chives, among some other herbs. She even had a young lemon tree. But she also had a few rows of mystery plants with little leafy tops her father couldn’t quite place.

“Well, aren’t you just Miss Salt-of-the-Earth today, Veronica? What brought on all this? You don’t even like to be outside!”

“I wanted to surprise Logan. He really likes fresh fruits and vegetables when he comes home from deployments, and we eat an obscene amount of salads in this house. I figured it might be cheaper and more interesting if we tried growing them ourselves.” Her nose crinkled a bit as she sat back on her heels before looking up at her father. “Too much?”

Slowly, Keith knelt beside his daughter, ignoring the twinge in his hip that hadn’t yet resolved after the accident. “Maybe a little, daughter-of-mine, but since when is that surprising? You never did subtle or safe very well. Go big or go home has always been your style. At least this time, you’re going big _at_ home.”

He dug his hands through the soft, yielding dirt to make a hole, then gently placed the small plant into it. “You know you could have had your lawn service do this, though, right?” His fingers gently tamped down the soil now replaced over the newly transplanted sprout.

The small, shy smile that spread across Veronica’s face brought with it a flood of memories from her childhood so overwhelming it took him a moment to realize she was talking again.

“… but I wanted it to be special. I mean, I’ve never had a green thumb. I killed a cactus once, for Pete’s sake. But I figured I could give it a try, and if I screw it up royally, then I could have them come fix it.”

Keith smiled at the ground, scooting a little to the left to repeat the process with the next plant—dig, plant, cover, pat. “Makes sense. I’m sure Logan will love it. What am I planting here, because this doesn’t look like anything I’ve knowingly eaten before.”

His hip reminded him, yet again, of his discomfort but he ignored it. This was pain he was willing to bear in order to work alongside his daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Salt


	17. The Princess and the Pea

“What about having a school function that doesn’t require people to buy anything—new clothes, tickets, costumes?” Veronica piped up from the back of the classroom where student council was currently meeting.

“I’m pretty sure we call those ‘pep rallies’, Veronica.” Madison sneered at her from her chair near the front. “How are we supposed to pay for nice things for the school or our class trips if no one has to buy anything? Why are you even here? You’re not a member of the student council.”

Unimpressed and unconvinced, Veronica leaned sideways in her chair to look directly at the bottle blonde 09er. “You could always ask Daddy to do it. He could easily pay for an entire class trip, and still get to write it off his taxes. Not that we need to lose tax money, by any means… but it’s not like he pays them anyways, now is it?”

Madison turned in her desk, pinning Veronica with narrowed eyes. “And what would you suggest for this free-for-all function, Veronica Mars? An “Enchanted Trailer Park” themed dance? If we wanted cheap and easy, we’d just meet at your place every Saturday night.”

“Alright, ladies, that’s enough.” Mrs. Dent rapped her fingers against the edge of the desk, interrupting Veronica’s reply. “Madison, any student who has concerns is more than welcome to come to council meetings and express them. I think Veronica has a good point. Not everyone in this school can afford to join all these events, but that shouldn’t mean they miss out on them. What about a “pay what you can” system at the door? No one gets turned away, so everyone can enjoy the night, and we still collect money to go towards school trips and other donations.”

Murmurs filled the room as the other students discussed the possibility with their friends, until most were nodding in agreement. When Mrs. Dent cleared her throat, the noise died down. “Shall we vote on the proposed new “pay-what-you-can” system for school functions? All in favor, please raise your hand.”

The teacher wrote a number on her notepad after a quick count of raised hands. “All opposed?” she asked. Madison’s hand flew into the air, followed somewhat reluctantly by the cronies surrounding her.

“Looks like the motion passes.” Mrs. Dent announced happily. “Thank you, Veronica, for that excellent suggestion.”

“But Mrs. Dent—” Madison’s nasal whine was drowned out by the round of applause from the room.

Veronica smirked and gave a small salute to the young woman now glaring at her. Any day she beat Madison at her own game was a good day for Veronica Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Enchant


	18. Hippocrates Only Applies to Patients...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another snippet from the universe started in chapter 8, [Diagnosis: Trouble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158335/chapters/37993013)
> 
> Content warning: This does mention a drug overdose, so please take care of yourself when/if you read.

Logan tossed the clipboard down at his station and scanned his badge across the RFID. The thud as the board hit the wall was oddly satisfying. Leaning his chair back, Logan ran his hand through his hair, making the normally-perfectly-messed hair stand on end.

“Good patient, I take it?” _Ahhh... the voice of wisdom and truth..._ he thought, narrowing his eyes to glare at the tiny blonde now standing over him. Veronica leaned over his shoulder slightly, scanning the triage sheet and information he had written down. Her hand pressed lightly against his shoulder. _Just to keep her balance, I’m sure._ He tried not to think about how good it felt.

“Tylenol overdose. Waiting for the lab to spit out the levels to see the damage.” A few clicks on his screen brought up the resulted labs. “And it looks like we have a winner. The teenage suicidal ones are the hardest.” They both stand still and silent for a moment, contemplating the sadness of their own and of their patients who end up in these positions.

Pulling herself together, she scrunched her nose at the screen. _She shouldn’t be this cute_. “Acetylcysteine. Gross.”

Logan turned a questioning look to his colleague. “Gross?”

The slow smirk that crossed her face made his heart speed up, but not in the sexy or romantic kind of way. She looked impressively frightening for someone so… tiny.

“Who’s their nurse?” she asked. He scanned the patient assignments before answering. “Wallace, it looks like.” The smirk turned into an outright grin.

Grabbing his shoulder, Veronica hauled him out of the chair. “Come on.” she threw over her shoulder, and when she rounded the corner out of the doctor’s office, she yelled for Wallace. When she saw the man-of-the-moment walking out of the medication room, she grinned, dragging Logan along with her.

“Bed 24’s acetylcysteine?” Her hopeful tone made Wallace suspicious.

“Yeah. I was just about to grab some juice for her. Why?” He cocked his head to look at her through the side of his eyes as the group moved towards the patient dietary refrigerator.

“Logan here has never given acetylcysteine before.” she announces triumphantly. Her grin is quickly mirrored by his own.

Handing over the juice, medication bottle, syringe, and blunt needle to the intern, Wallace shrugged. “Have at it, man. Pull it up, mix it with just a little juice in the glass, and tell her to take it like a shot. And don't freak out or you'll freak her out.”

Veronica pushed his shoulder toward the room. Logan looked at her, confused. “Aren’t you coming with?” he asked.

“Nope.” She popped the final ‘p’ and turned on her heels back to the office, bending her head towards Wallace in conversation as she left.

A few minutes later, a slightly-green-tinged Dr. Echolls sat back down at his desk.

“Have a good time?” Veronica’s laughed at him as he made a face of disgust at her.

“You could have warned me that stuff smelled like rotten eggs.”

“Did you make the rookie mistake of putting it into the cup before you opened the juice?” Wallace asked, biting his lower lip as he tried not to smile too widely at the distress of the newbie.

"That stuff is vile." He shook his head as if to dislodge the memory.

"I bet you also put in too much juice, so it took her forever to drink it." Veronica chimed in from beside the amused nurse.

“I hate you both.” was Logan’s only response as Veronica and Wallace’s laughs filled the unit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: rotten
> 
> Nursing Note: The medication referenced here, acetylcysteine, really does smell like sulfur (aka rotten eggs) and can be used for multiple things. We give it intravenously and sometimes orally for acetaminophen overdoses, but for the purposes of this story it was much more fun to give it orally. Sometimes we'll give it as a protective measure for kidney injuries with different disease processes. It can also be nebulized (imagine having to breathe in rotten egg smells for 5 minutes) to help break up thick mucous secretions with a variety of pulmonary issues. The worst thing is getting some on your hands if it spills, because the smell is so hard to wash off!


	19. Growing Up

“I can’t do this, Dick. Not anymore. I’m… I’m sorry.”

The young man scoffed at his ~~girlfriend~~ ex-girlfriend sitting in front of him. “You're finally sorry? Forgive me if I don't actually believe you, _Maddie.”_

The young woman at least had the presence of mind to look somewhat chastened by his statement.

“So who is he?” The nonchalance in Dick's voice surprised her. Not an edge of jealousy or hint of sadness. No sigh of resignation to his fate.

A smirk crossed his face as he watched her process his question. “What, did you expect me to wallow and cower and beg for another chance, Madison? No can do, chika. I've spent the last year or so miserable because you've been unhappy. We had some good times, especially in the beginning before Lilly died. But we haven't even liked each other in probably a year.”

Dick flagged the waiter for the check. Madison continued to stare at him, jaw slack and confusion furrowing her brow. “When… when did this happen?” She finally stammered out as he slipped his credit card into the plastic receipt tray.

“I don't know when we actually stopped liking each other, or when you just stopped trying. But the rest… living with Logan, watching him and Ronnie… it's been eye opening. I mean, they fight and break up and get back together, but it's never because they don't actually like each other. They have problems, and I'm not sure they'll ever get over them. But I realized that I want something even half as intense as they have. Someone who actually wants to fight with me, and make jokes, and hold my hand sometimes, and hang out with on the couch. I want nicknames—and _stupid_ doesn’t count.”

Signing the receipt, he pocketed his card and stood. He threw back the last of his drink before looking down at his first love and only heartbreak. “You don't want to do this anymore because you feel like it's a slutty move to cheat on me, and you think your money makes you too good to be that kind of slut. You start drama to feel wanted. You want me to be hurt and angry and sad… I’m not going to take that bait anymore. Been there, done that. I may not know a whole lot, but I know I deserve better than you've ever given me, and I'm going to find it. You're welcome for lunch, Madison. Enjoy your new fuckbuddy.”

The self-proclaimed queen of the 09ers watched the blonde surfer until he slipped through the door and out of sight. Somehow, though she came here to break it off with him, she had ended up being the one who got dumped, and she did not appreciate the feeling.

Suddenly her new boytoy didn't look nearly as appealing.

  
Maybe, for once, Dick was right. _When did he grow up, and why didn't I notice?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Can't do this


	20. For Better or For Worse

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Veronica pivoted away from her husband to pace along the other end of the room, arms crossed defensively across her belly as she moved.

“I know. You got these results months ago, and if I hadn’t come across them cleaning up in the office, we probably still wouldn’t be.” Logan watched her pace, waiting for her next move. In his hand were a sheaf of papers from their family doctor with a myriad of numbers and handwritten notes, results of medical tests his wife had done months ago without his knowledge.

“I didn’t tell you for a reason. It’s none of your business. I’m taking care of it.” She sniped at him as her fingers pressed harder into her flesh.

“Like hell it’s not. You’re making yourself literally sick, Veronica, and I love you. That makes it my business.” His next inhale was tremulous with the effort to keep calm and not rise to her provocation, knowing it was coming after his next statement. “You should take some time off work.”

Veronica squared her body toward him and narrowed her eyes into a glare that made lesser men cower, bracing herself for a fight even from across the room. “No.”

It was less of a response than he was expecting, but somehow that made him more anxious, not less.

They studied one another from across the room, Logan sitting on the chair with barely-contained anxiety, Veronica standing by the opposite wall looking forever like she was about to bolt. 

“We’ll get… a nanny, a personal trainer, a chef. Whatever it takes to get you better.”

“I don’t need to push my kids off on someone else or lose weight, Logan.”

“I didn’t hear no to a chef, though.” Logan’s lips quirked with a barely suppressed smirk. He stood, finally, crossing the room to wrap his arms around his wife. Her arms stayed crossed around her middle, but when she finally met his gaze, her eyes had softened substantially.

“I don’t think you’re trying to push the kids off, and I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about your weight.” His arms tightened around her. “But if I understand what I’m reading on these papers, we’ve got to do _something_. You’re low on some stuff in your blood, you need more protein, you’re stress hormones are too high, and some other stuff that basically tells me you feel like shit and you’ve been hiding it from me. I don’t like that, Veronica. I need you to talk to me. What do you need?”

The sad, pleading look in her husband’s eyes pushed the fight from her veins. Heaving a deep sigh, she dropped her head onto his chest and then wrapped her arms around his back instead of her own belly. “I need… help.” She finally whispered, hating the tremor in her voice and the pressure building behind her eyes.

“That I can do.” He told her, cupping her cheek with one hand and guiding her to look up at him. “So, where do we start?”

Pulling away from him, she walked over to her own desk and pulled a file out of the bottom drawer. “Here.” She pushed the papers on top of the first stack. “Let’s go sit outside and talk. My follow-up labwork was a little better, but Dr. Michaels still wants me to go see a specialist. She recommended a few other things too, but I don’t know how I feel about those options.”

Smiling softly at her, Logan leaned over and kissed her on the nose softly. “Thank you for not fighting me… too much… on this. We’ll figure it out.”

Grabbing his hand as they moved toward the patio, Veronica smiled at him—her first smile since she walked into the office to see him pale and mouth agape as he read the paperwork from their doctor—and nudged his shoulder with her own. “We always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: trainer


	21. Writing on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continues the medical AU started in chapter 8 and continued in chapter 18. While there is no Friday the 13th in October *this* year (2018), it does happen occasionally.
> 
> Content warning: this chapter does reference canonical sexual assault, but nothing graphic or explicit. Read with care.

“I work Friday the 13th **and** Halloween night this month. The only thing that would make it worse is if either of those fell on a full moon!” Veronica glared at the computer screen like she could magically change the schedule.

Logan smirked at her from his seat next to her in the mostly empty lecture hall. “Don't tell me you believe all those weird superstitions.”

‘You don’t believe in superstition, eh? Like that more babies are born at full moons, or that Halloween brings out the extra crazies?” She glanced at him sideways before returning her attention to the screen in front of her.

“Oh, I believe anything—holidays, sports, parades, hell, even Taco Tuesdays—that involves lots of alcohol brings out extra craziness, especially in people who look perfectly normal in their day to day.” Veronica didn't look at him again, but there was something in his tone that didn’t match his sudden restlessness, and that made Veronica curious.

Veronica didn't want to be curious, not like this. This curiosity is what killed her cat… metaphorically speaking. Well, to be more precise, it killed her father's metaphoric cat. Or maybe it got his goat? Either way, an animal was parabolically had because Veronica couldn't let go of her curiosity. Like a _normal_ person. 

She learned her lesson. She couldn't feed her addiction, because then it would take over her life. Again. And probably ruin it this time. Her dad couldn't protect her forever.

“But the baby thing… I think if that were true we could easily gather some hard data to prove it. Care to join me in a research study?” Logan nudged her gently with his shoulder when she didn’t reply. “Are you even listening?”

Shaking her head, Veronica felt her cheeks flush as she realized he'd been talking at her. “Sorry. Spaced out there for a minute. What kind of research are you wanting to do?” She looked at him expectantly.

“The babymaking kind.” His eyebrows bobbed as he grinned lecherously at her.

Veronica turned back to her laptop screen, suddenly engrossed in the schedule she was just glaring at. “While I probably deserved that for tuning you out, you better be careful some other woman in this room doesn't report you for sexual harassment.”

“It's only harassment if it's unwanted.” He quips back quickly. When, again, Veronica didn't immediately respond, Logan turned in his seat and placed a hand on her forearm. She knew she looked a little pale, and she tried to find something to say to break the unwanted tension. The unwanted _attention._

“Hey.” He said softly. “I'm sorry. I obviously hit a nerve. You never deserve unwanted comments and innuendos, from anyone.. least of all me. Sometimes my inner jackass bypasses my filters.” When she dared to meet his eyes, his brown eyes were soft, but didn’t hold the pity or discomfort she'd come to expect. Instead, he kept steady eye contact with her, his eyes warm and concerned. “And if anyone else tries it, I'll be happy to make sure they meet the rectangle with the knob for their troubles. Myself included. Just say the word.”

Veronica broke their shared gaze, the intensity making her stomach flip and rocketing her heart into low orbit. They lapsed into silence but his hand remained on her forearm until their weekly seminar started and he had to pull away to take notes on his own computer. He pressed his elbow gently against hers instead, teasingly playing elbow hockey with her. She couldn't stop the small smile she threw his way. They settled in, companionably sharing the small armrest, for a morning of discussing the role of emergency medicine in the new protocols for septic encephalopathies with cardiopulmonary comorbidities.

Veronica couldn't focus on the lecture, though, not really, as her mind filled with a whole new kind of curiosity… one of a much less self-destructive variety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: superstition
> 
> Title taken from a very famous song about superstitions....


	22. Hunter Becomes the Hunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leverage is one of my top 5 favorite TV shows, as is VMars. So I couldn't pass up the chance to have them work together...

Veronica whipped around, almost losing her balance, at the unexpected, warm hand on her shoulder. She would have fallen over but a second hand joined the first, steadying her until she could catch her balance. She looked up from her crouching position after she was sure she was stable.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I… uh, I thought you were someone else.” The older man looked as startled as she felt. “Crouching blonde hair, dark clothes…” his voice trailed off. “You okay?”

The tiny PI studied the man before her. Scraggly hair, clothes not well kept but not unkempt either, circles under his eyes, skin a bit on the lackluster side. Something about him set her hair on end; not only did he look familiar, but something _about_ him was familiar.

“Yeah, I guess it’s not unusual to see a tiny blonde on her knees in an alley in this town.” She quipped, watching him carefully as she stood. “Is… is there something wrong?”

Following his eyes, she saw a younger man—dark skin, tall, a little on the gangly side—careening around the corner of the building and into the alley. Before the older man could respond to her question, his friend was talking to him. “Nate. We gotta go, man. Parker’s in the van and Eliot’s… Who’s this?”

“Uh… Hardison. Okay. This is… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Nate turned toward the young woman, holding his arm half-out, a confused expression on his face.

“You didn’t ask.” She told him. Turning to his friend, she held out her hand. “Veronica.”

Hardison’s eyebrow raised. “As in Veronica Mars?”

“Uh, yeah.” She looked at him curiously. “How do you know my name?”

Before either man could answer, another man yelled at them from the end of the alley, where a petite blonde— _taller than I am but I can see the resemblance while squatting_ —was flinging open the door of a black van and waving the men inside. “Unless y’all wanna end up on tonight’s news, I suggest you get a move on!”

“Okay, Eliot, geez!” Pulling her hand, Hardison practically dragged her with him towards the van, talking animatedly as they moved. “I know this seems weird, and probably borders on kidnapping… but if you’ll trust me for, like, 15 minutes then we’ll explain everything.”

“Well, it kinda feels like kidnapping, but it also feels like I don’t have a choice. Can I at least have my boyfriend meet us… where ever it is that we’re going?” Veronica climbs in and whistles through her teeth as she spies the tech gadgetry lining one side of the van. “Q wouldn’t mind a call, either, if only to talk shop about that.” She waves her hand towards the wall.

Nate nods at the driver—a pretty brunette closer in age to Nate than Hardison, with medium olive skin, high cheekbones, and eyes that remind her a little of Logan—and the van pitches forward into the thick of downtown Boston traffic. The alcoholic—now that’s she’s had a moment to think, she realizes that he reminds her of Lianne right before she left in the middle of the night—shares a look with the other three members of his crew. At least, she assumes they are his crew, since everyone seems to be feeding him information and waiting for his consent before doing or saying too much. When Eliot—short, brawny, rough stubble on his face and likely a little rough around the edges, if she’s reading him right—nods to the man, Nate agrees that she can call Logan. “There’s a little bar down in the heart of the Irish neighborhood, McRory’s. He can meet us there.”

Veronica watches curiously as the blonde leans towards Eliot and stagewhispers, “Nate thought I looked like her? Are we sure he wasn’t drinking before the job?” Hardison chuckled and Eliot nudged his elbow gently into the woman’s ribs, chastising her with his tone— _“Parker.”_ —before meeting Veronica’s gaze and shrugging sheepishly.

A quick websearch for the address and she shoots a text to Logan, only looking up from her phone once it vibrates with his confirmation. “Now that that’s settled, who are you and how do you know my name?”

“We all work for Leverage Consulting & Associates. We specialize in… security issues. A client of ours was concerned for your safety, so we’ve been keeping an eye out for you while we worked their case.”

“Logan put you up to this, didn’t he?” She interrupted whatever Nate was about to say next, her voice irritated as she glared at her phone.

The four coworkers chuckled, and Nate shook his head. “I take it Logan’s the boyfriend?” At Veronica’s nod, he continued. “No, Logan didn’t put us up to it. Why don’t we save the full story for when he meets us, though, so I don’t have to tell it twice?”

The van pulls to a stop and the driver turns in her seat, speaking with an unexpected British accent. “You all get out. I’ll go park in the garage down the street and meet you back here in a few to fill in our new friend... and her handsome boyfriend.” A mischievous smile crossed her face with the last statement.

“Thanks, Sophie!” Parker chirps, bounding to the door—a surprising feat given how small the back of the van is when full of equipment and people—and flinging it open. As they all filed out, Veronica caught sight of Logan walking up the sidewalk towards her.

A look of alarm crossed Logan’s face and he picked up his pace as he realized his girlfriend was climbing out of a black van surrounded by people he didn’t recognize. Eliot’s voice carried from behind her. “Navy. Fighter pilot.” At Veronica’s startled look, he explained. “The build—tall but slim—and the haircut. It’s just… it’s a very distinctive look.”

Logan’s arms caught around her waist, pulling her protectively against him as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You okay?” he murmured softly, glancing between her and the people now walking down the stairs to the bar. Eliot stayed behind, leaning against the light pole off to the side.

“I’m okay, Logan. They work in security, though I think it’s more Weidman’s style than yours, and apparently they’ve been told to keep an eye out for me. The ringleader, Nate, said he’d tell me the whole story once you got here.” Veronica pushed up onto her tiptoes, rubbing her nose against his before kissing him lightly. “I’m okay, Logan. I swear. Let’s go inside and figure out what’s going on. I assume this has to do with the Breville case, since that’s why we’re in Boston at all.”

Logan’s fingers slid from her waist to her hand, gripping her tightly as they walked. _He’s never going to let me do recon alone again._ She sighed as she took the first step down to the bar's door. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Leverage


	23. The New Fab Four?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undeniable sexual content. Be of age and all that jazz.
> 
> Blame this one directly on EllieBear and Irma66...

My eyes flicker between the handsome man below me and the gorgeous woman in front of me. I chew my lower lip in contemplation. His hands run up my rib cage and circle around to slip down my back. I let out a soft moan when the fullness and stretch intensified as the man behind me rocked his hips into mine, pushing and pulling me against himself and the man below me.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Logan whispers against my ear, placing a soft kiss to that spot behind it that makes me instinctively tighten. Both men groan with me.

Chewing my lip again, I press my body up on my hands until I can see his face. “I want to, but… well, what if I do it wrong? I know what you’re like, I know what _he’s_ like now,” I tilt my head backwards toward the man still gently rocking against me, observing but not interrupting, “and I’m not sure I can live up to that.”

Logan studies my face for a moment, kissing then nipping at my chin before responding. “You’re not supposed to live up to us. You’re supposed to find out what works for you, and for you two together. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m _sure_ we can find other pleasures for the night. We’re only going to do as much as you’re okay with, nothing more.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, relaxing my body against his, falling into his kiss as I drift away in sensations again. Push, pull. Rough, warm. Moan, groan, whimper. Hard, soft.

Performance anxiety has always been a problem for me. I’ve gotten better through the years, but it still rears its ugly head at the worst of times. Like tonight. Like _right now_ , when I could be fulfilling a huge fantasy for at least three people here tonight.

When air becomes an issue, rest my forehead against his and meet his eyes. “You’ll stay?” I ask, in an unusual display of vulnerability. “Talk me through it?” I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t think of any other way to phrase it.

“Absolutely.” His bright smile stirs up a different kind of butterfly in my stomach. “I wouldn’t miss telling you how sexy you look, how loud she’s moaning, how good you’re making her feel, how much I love watching you enjoy yourself.” The strokes become longer, more forceful from the man still behind me, driving home each statement that comes out of Logan’s mouth. From what she’s told me and what I’ve discovered tonight, Chase has always been more of an action kind of man.

Looking up, I smile into those bright green eyes and give her a small nod.

_“God,_ Veronica Mars,” she exclaims, falling back onto the bed, “you’re going to be the fucking death of me.”

“That’ll make three of us, Lilly.” Logan pipes up.

“Two.” comes the silky voice from behind me. “One of us has already been dead.”

I giggle as Lilly props a pillow under her hips and scoots towards me.

Who knew meeting Lilly’s new boyfriend was going to lead to such an adventurous night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Flicker
> 
> This will likely be expounded upon at some point, but this much of it had to get out of my head...


	24. Sweetest Sadness in Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another snippet from the residency AU started in chapter 8.

Logan groaned and tossed the textbook onto the low coffee table in front of him. “I thought finishing med school meant I could put these books down. For, like, ever.”

From her place in a chair across the table, Veronica bookmarked her spot using the business card of the surgical rep who spoke to them during last week’s conference before placing her book beside his. “You obviously didn’t pay attention during your required clinical hours. Or did UCLA not _require_ clinical hours?”

Smirking, he shrugged. “Maybe I just bought my way out of it. Was easy enough to do for everything else in LA.”

Veronica’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly and she stood hastily. _Why does money always make her so defensive?_  


“I’m going to get some more coffee, anyone else want some?” was all she asked.

Meg, the curly blonde internal medicine resident who lived next door to Veronica, requested a skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot. Everyone else shook their heads. Logan watched her walk towards the all-night coffeeshop just beyond the couches and chairs their study group had set up in.

“What’s eating her, dude?” the shaggy blonde beside him finally piped up, glancing between Logan and Veronica’s retreating form. 

“Dunno, man. Wish I did.” Logan’s eyes remained glued to Veronica until she disappeared into the shop.

“Ugh. Just get laid already, Ronnie.”

“Don’t be a dick, _Dick.”_ Logan retorted, wadding up a discarded sheet of notes and tossing it at his friend. “If she hears you call her that, she’ll shove your lips so far up your ass, your surgery buddies won’t be able to repair the damage.”

Meg rolled her eyes at both of them but couldn’t stop the smile from crossing her face at their brotherly bickering. She fixed her knowing gaze on Logan, making the man feel oddly vulnerable. “You really like her, don’t you Logan?”

Logan hesitated as Veronica walked back through the door with a drink carrier in one hand and pastry bag in the other. “She’s a moth and I’m a flame.” He murmured so low that Meg couldn’t understand the words, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t need explanation. 

He buried his nose back in his book as she approached their sitting area.

Secrets are all he’s ever known. _She deserves better than that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: bookmark


	25. Higher Stakes

“We've got spirit! Yes we do! We've got spirit, how ' bout you?!”

Meg jumped and twirled, smiled and simpered as was expected of her. Her pressed skirt flipped and twisted, her curls bobbed and swayed. Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.

No one seemed to notice.

She played their games as well as the players on the field. Meg knew. She’d known for a long time. It’s about playing smarter, not harder. Interrupting the rumor mill with a smile and faked obliviousness. Deflecting a wandering hand with a raised eyebrow and a lick of her lips. Hiding the truth as long as she could below layers of clothes and a disarmingly sweet personality.

No one seemed to suspect.

They knew better than to leave physical marks. Not much is hidden when the golden girl of school puts on her cheerleading outfit. After that first game of careful movements to hide the purple monstrosity on her upper thigh, they’d learned. Too many people had asked questions, too many comments inched too close to the truth. “Is she okay? She seems upset.” “Maybe she’s hurt, she seems to be shielding that one hip.” “She’s not very peppy tonight, I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Still, no one seemed to care.

From that night on, their discipline had been a different kind of physical. The kind that didn't leave bruises on skin. Eyes flitting across the crowd as she yelled meaningless phrases about winning spirit, she saw her family. She tossed a small wave and a tight smile in their direction. Her hand instinctively slipped over her own belly, and she turned quickly to face the field, hoping her parents didn’t notice the movement. She couldn’t—no, she _wouldn’t_ —do the same with her. Her baby (she knew she was a little girl… she didn’t know how, she just _knew_ …) would have a better life. A life without fear of coming home.

No one needed to know.

She watched the game on the field as she planned her next moves in the game that had become her life. 

High stakes, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: Spirit


	26. Self-Torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This explicit smut took on a life of its own. It was supposed to be a quick drabble.
> 
> I know, y'all are all shocked.
> 
> Explicit sexual content, be of age, all that jazz.

A growl emanated from her throat as she flopped down against the bed. One hand flung across her face, the other played gently along her lips but avoided her clit, bringing herself down from the edge yet again. He slid himself away from the apex of her thighs, enjoying the friction from the sheets across his own, impossibly hard erection.

“You did this to yourself.” Logan said solemnly. The twinkle in his eye and the slight upturn of his lip belied the seriousness in his voice. He lifted his hips until his ass was in the air, looking like a wild cat on the prowl. His hand drifted down his stomach and across his own cock, giving himself a light pull to relieve the pressure building there. “You’re the one who read somewhere on the internet that delaying your orgasm makes it more intense. _I_ would have been more than happy to watch you jack off—side note: is it called jilling off when a girl does it? Let’s come back to that.—until you came for the last two nights. Maybe slowing you down a little, stretch it out. You’re the one who decided to forego your orgasm for three days.”

Veronica’s glare became stronger as he spoke. “You’re not helping, jackass.”

Leaning forward until his breath ghosted over her drenched sex yet again, he smirked as she moaned and her legs trembled. “I’d say I helped a lot. You’re the one not taking full advantage of my talents.” He planted a soft kiss on her mons before snaking his tongue out to lap softly between her labia. A featherlight caress over her clit caused her to jerk her hips upwards, pressing herself more firmly against his mouth. He caught her clit with amazing accuracy, applying gentle pressure with teeth and tongue until she whimpered below him. He felt the first pull of her clit against his teeth, the spasm signaling her impending orgasm.

He released her clit, laying his head against her thigh as she fought to control her breathing.

“We don’t have to wait ‘til tomorrow, Veronica. All you have to do is say the word. I can’t believe there would be a significant difference between your orgasm right now and your orgasm tomorrow, since the build up is pretty much the same.”

Logan watched her eyes travel to the clock on her bedside table. 11:37pm. When she looked at him again, there was steely resolve in eyes and determination in her voice. “Keep going.”

Pulling himself up to his knees, he grabbed a condom and rolled it on with practiced ease. “Your wish is my command.” He lifted one of her legs and pressed it against his body, tilting her pelvis and opening her to him. His lips kissed the inside of her ankle gently as he slowly pushed into her, enjoying the way she gripped at him, her inner walls rhythmically clenching and releasing in a desperate search for friction and movement.

“Open your eyes.” He commanded, watching as she struggled to fight the heaviness of her arousal. “If you’re going to make me wait another 24 minutes for you to come, you’re going to watch every second of it. No closing your eyes, Veronica, until you come. You watch me. Do you understand?” 

Veronica’s eyes widened as he voiced her unspoken plan, to exploit the technicality of her plan. He didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to become darker, given how horny she’d been for the last few days, but he watched in fascination as they did. He made a mental note to explore that more fully… later.

“Do you understand?” he prompted again.

Veronica nodded slowly. Logan leisurely pulled out. She struggled to keep her eyes open as her overstimulated and hyperaware body processed every sensation. He slammed back into her, hard and fast, and she moaned loudly, arching her back off the bed to meet his thrust.

“Watch me, Veronica.” Logan reminded her, reaching to gently turn her head back toward his face. Her eyes locked with his, and he found a steady pace, his fingers gently caressing her face as his cock caressed her cunt. Occasionally, he’d twist his hips on the instroke, pressing into _just_ _that spot_ that made her tremble and fight to maintain her control.

He picked up his pace, stroking in and out faster, deciding to test her resolve.

“Oh god, Logan. Please.” She whimpered. “Fuck, Logan. I can’t… if you… oh god.” Her hands clawed at him, one on his shoulder, one at his hip, fighting to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. Her eyes bore into his, desperate and determined, angry and aroused. Guttural, primal sounds fell from her lips as he pushed her to the edge of sanity, tore holes in her control. Veronica yelled, a string of profanities his squadron would be proud of ( _when did she learn French?_ ), at the sudden loss of sensation when Logan pulled out and away from her, leaving her on the brink of orgasm.

He checked the clock. 11:55pm. Reaching for her face, he pulled her onto her knees, kissing her desperately before pulling her by her hair down toward his cock. “Watch me, Veronica.” He reminded her, then had to fight from losing his own control. Veronica’s mouth engulfed him as her blue eyes—dark, wide, hungry with want, with _need_ —met his in one of the most erotic sights of his life. She worked him, in and out, unconcerned with finesse or skill, in and out, in and out, in and out, just working on raw energy and desperation.

His hand stayed planted in her hair, never applying pressure, just grounding them both. Her eyes widened as she took him until she gagged around his head, and he inadvertently thrust at the pleasurable tightening around him. “Sorry.” he muttered at her, but then she did it again. “Fuck, Veronica.” His eyes glanced at the clock, then tensed in her hair, stopping her movements against him.

“It’s midnight, Veronica. How do you want to come—on my face or on my cock?”

“Both.” She responded, pushing him onto his back and taking him in one smooth thrust, groaning as she stilled for only a moment before picking up a pace that would be punishing for them both under any other circumstances. She leaned down, the change in angle making her tighten. Veronica slammed her mouth against his, kissing him deeply. The keen accompanying her orgasm vibrated against the hand cupping her jaw. Ripping his lips from hers, he pulled both hands to frame her face, watching every moment as waves of pleasure wracked her frame, her hips grinding and pushing against him as she rode the orgasm and its aftershocks.

Before she caught her breath, she was crawling towards his face, turning herself to where she could take him in her mouth again as he worked her to orgasm yet again. Reaching down, she opened her lips, presenting him with the beautiful sight of her pussy, puffy and red and ready. His groan at his first taste reverberated through them both, and she returned the favor by taking him in her mouth.

It didn’t take either of them long to explode in and on each other—Logan’s lips tight around her clit, tongue working feverishly as Veronica pushed her hips onto his face; Veronica’s mouth tight and wet on his head, her hands cupping his balls and a finger grazing over his asshole.

Dragging himself up the bed to curl beside her, Logan relished the feeling of bonelessness and peace, something he’d missed for too long. “Worth it?” he managed to ask, his voice cracking from the dryness in his throat.

“With you?” she murmured, half asleep already, “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: tomorrow


	27. Stars Shine in the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit kinky sex below. Definitely be of age and aware and all that.

His hands run gently over her breasts, tracing the Milky Way of bruises forming across the tender flesh. Leaning down, Logan kisses the soft flesh, traces patterns into the pinpoint purple patches. Veronica moans softly in her sleep, unconsciously tangling her hand in his hair and holding him against her chest. Her nipples tighten against his cheek. He rests his forehead against her sternum, inhaling in her scent, memorizing the feel of her skin against his, her hand heavy on his head, her breathing soft below him.

He missed her. For ten long years. Give or take a couple of weeks. He still can’t believe she’s here, beside him. In front of him. Underneath him. That she loves him, waited for him. That she opens herself to him body and soul, and that right now, she wears the marks of that truth on her breasts for him to kiss and caress as his mind wanders back to last night.

Logan tested the cuffs around her wrists, making sure there wass enough room for circulation but not enough that her wily hands could slip out of them (again). Satisfied, he pulled her wrists behind her back and clipped them to one another then the sturdy, vertical wrought-iron pipe in the center of their headboard. Slipping cuffs onto her ankles, he checked them in a similar manner before clipping each to their respective corners of the headboard.

This left Veronica kneeling near their headboard, chest thrust out and thighs spread. He watched a small rivulet of moisture drip from her cunt and pool on the bed below her. It was definitely going to be a good night.

Crawling around her, Logan sat cross-legged in front of her on the bed. “Safeword?” His hand gently rested on her hip, grounding them together before they began. A light blush covered her cheeks as she answered. “Bobcat. Or red.”

He winked at her as a smirk pulled at his cheek. “And what do you want me to do to you tonight, Veronica?” His tone remained serious—a credit to his acting genes, to be sure—but his eyes crinkle in a barely suppressed smile. He loves the intimacy reinforced in their routine. Her safeword is a reminder that she is and always has been safe with him; her willingness to say what she needs is an act of trust and openness for both of them.

Though she is strapped, naked and open, to their headboard, this is what makes her feel vulnerable. Not physically being on display for him but naming her desires out loud… opening herself emotionally for ridicule and rejection, even though she knows they would never come from him. She trusts him to listen and fulfill her desires; he trusts her to tell him what she needs and wants from him. And so, despite the deepening blush on her face and the knots tightening in her stomach, she answered him.

“Hurt me, Logan, and make me come.”

His lips connected with one nipple, lavishing gentle attention on it. His hand reached for the other, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger with increasing intensity, stopping only when her breath hitches and she bit her lower lip. He studied her face from his position below her, watching the subtle movement of her jaw, her lips, her nose as he pulls and twists one nipple while continuing his tender ministrations on the other. When her face began to relax into the sensations, he bites into her nipple.

Veronica squeaked—he doesn’t have any other way to describe the noise she makes when surprised like that—and his cock twitched in response. He pulled his head back, stretching her nipple until it slipped from between his teeth along with a whimper from her throat.

“So…” Logan drawled, rising to his knees in front of her, weighing and kneading her breasts in his hands. “Have I told you how much I love your body?” A quick twist of her nipples accentuated his words.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and, god Veronica, nine years didn’t change that at all. Part of me knew, of course, that you and your body had changed but… I couldn’t let myself think about it too much… not when I wasn’t sure you’d ever come back to me. I couldn’t dream about what you would look like, what you would _feel_ like…”

Her eyes locked onto his as she spoke, the tilt of her head pushing her chest out a little more. A small smile crossed his face as his words tapered off. He released her breasts and then quickly brought his hands down onto the top swell of her breast, the sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh reverberating in the room. Veronica’s breathe hitched at the sting, her eyes closing briefly at the sensation before meeting his again. The fire behind her eyes stoked the flame in his belly.

“You like that, Veronica?” he asked softly. Her assent was just as quiet, neither wanting to break the energy building between them. Again and again, his hands came down on her, spreading across the tops and to the sides of her tits until they glowed a bright red with hints of darkening purple. Veronica panted and moaned, whimpered and groaned as she breathed into and through the pain of Logan’s bare hands against her.

Occasionally, he would run his hand, hot from the continual friction of his work, down her stomach and through the lips of her dripping cunt, reminding them both of how much she enjoyed this. Teasing her clit, he would rub his own erection against her thigh, whispering tauntingly in her ear about how good it was going to feel to fuck her… eventually. It was as much for his benefit as her own, a reminder that their play was for her, not him. A reminder that he was not his father, getting his rocks off under some disguise of sexual freedom.

“Check-in.” he whispered, running a featherlight kiss across her lips. “Are you okay?”

Veronica found his eyes through lids heavy with arousal and endorphins. “I’m okay, Logan. I’m more than okay. Keep going, please.” His hands slid across the now red and tender flesh as he kissed her again, deeply, reassuring himself of her honesty and enjoying the shiver that ran through her body at his touch.

He grabbed her left nipple and pulled it up until the underside of her breast was exposed before continuing, lightening the force somewhat since this flesh was noticeably more sensitive than the tops of her breast. When small bruises began to erupt on that breast, he switched to the right.

Logan would _never_ be so inconsiderate as to leave her lopsided, after all.

Releasing her nipple, he sat back on his heels to admire his work. “Gorgeous.” He murmured, running a soft finger around each breast. Reaching around her, he released first one ankle then the other.

“Fuck me, Veronica. Make yourself come.” He ordered her, scooting under her and helping her adjust to straddle him.

“Would be easier if I could use my hands.” she mumbled at him as she swayed to one side.

“Maybe so, but it would be less fun.” He tells her as he wraps one arm under hers to hold her chest tightly to his. His other goes to gently but protectively cradle her head. “Now fuck me.”

Logan groans as the heat from her chest begins to rub against his own. Veronica whimpers at the overwhelming sensations coursing through her body—rough skin dragging against hypersensitive flesh, his hardness filling and stretching her, the drag of her clit as she moves against him.

Logan leans back slightly, forcing Veronica to lean forward to continue riding him, putting pressure on her shoulders. With her head now tilted forward towards his chest, Logan removes the protective hand from it and slides it between their bodies.

“Fuck, Logan. Yes. Oh god, yes.” Veronica begins chanting as her pace picks up, pushing her clit against his fingers as she chases the orgasm that has been building all night. When her rhythm falters, Logan picks it up, cushioning her head against his forearm as he pushes her back against the headboard, pummeling into her fast and hard until they both orgasm, wailing and roaring as waves of pleasure take them into the abyss.

And now, after a midnight snack of leftovers from the fridge and some ice cream, Veronica sleeps, curled against him. Her breasts are still pink, the bruises becoming more defined as time passes. To him, they sparkle like stars in the night sky—infinite in number, each representing another enigma of Veronica—things he knows and will never know about the woman in his arms. Only in the darkness can you see their light.

He breathes in deeply once more, locking the scent of sweat and sex and marshmallows and all the promises they’ve yet to explore into his memory. Logan pulls himself off her gently and wraps himself around her protectively, falling asleep with one hand cradling her breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the Day: Sparkle


	28. It's a Marathon, Not a Sprint

“You can't actually get much work done this way.”

Keith Mars looked up at his daughter from his desk chair. “Like what, honey? Handsome? Witty? Charming?”

Veronica shook her head, a semi-amused smirk on her face. “Hmm… I was thinking something more along the lines of… Hurting.” When his lips pull into a thin line, she took another step toward his desk.

The pills rattle as she drops the medication bottle on the desk. “You’ve only been home for three weeks.”

Picking up the bottle, he looked at the thoughtfully, his thumb running over the label. “They make me fuzzy, Veronica. I can’t get any work done that way. At least this way I can get _something_ done.”

Rolling her eyes, Veronica huffed as she dropped into the seat in front of his desk. “Ahh yes, the ‘do a little now so it takes longer to heal or actually heal so I can do more’ conundrum. If only you had someone who could cover your cases. Someone you trusted. Someone you trained. Someone like…me, your most beloved daughter.”

Keith chuckled, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was met with a pointed glare when he looked back at his daughter.

“Come on, old man.” She sighed, standing from the chair. “I’ll drive you home, where you can be high on painkillers in relative comfort. Healing is a marathon, Dad, not a sprint.” Under her breath, she muttered. "I should know."

Pushing himself up using the desk, the sheriff-turned-private-investigator reached for his cane. “You win this time, daughter-dearest. Before you know it, though, I’ll be running circles around you. Again.”

“Uh-huh.” She watched him carefully as they moved from the office and out the front door. “I’ll make sure the Boston Marathon is on high alert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the Day: Medication


	29. Better make it quick!

Mac's scream reverberated down the hall. Grabbing the mask now in front of her, she yanked it off her boyfriend's face before whacking him in the arm with it. “Wallace!”

Laughing, Wallace wrapped her in a hug and lifted her off the floor. “Happy Fright Night, Mac!” he exclaimed, exuberance bubbling off him as he twirled them towards the living room.

“V and Logan will be here any minute. Lilly and… whoever she’s banging this week… and Duncan and Meg and Dick and... whoever _he_ is banging this week are all supposed to be here in about half an hour. The trick-or-treat bowls are filled, the front light is changed to purple, and the non-food bags for the kids with allergies are in the ghost box by the door. The teal pumpkins are out front with the rest of them, too.” Wallace’s voice became higher and more excited with every sentence.

Mac couldn’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm. “You’ve been a busy little bee, haven’t you? But… you’re still missing the most important part of Halloween!” She eyed his t-shirt and cargo shorts suspiciously.

“What?” he asked, fake defensiveness in his voice as he jutted his jaw forward. “My costume? Girl, you know I’ve got that locked down, I just want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh really?” Mac’s eyebrow rockets upward. “Might there be a way to get a special… sneak preview?” Mac tossed her hair over her shoulder as she moved back towards their bedroom, a little extra sway in her hips. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…” she ventures.

Wallace rubbed his hands together and bit his lip as he followed her down the hall. “I don’t get the feeling we’re talking about costumes anymore. We gotta hurry, though. You know how V gets when she has to wait...”

Mac grinned at him, turning in the doorway and slowly backing in to the room, keeping her eyes on him. “She's got a key, she can let herself in. As for my costume, I was planning on going as a sexy computer programmer this year, but then I saw this other costume at the shop that I just couldn’t resist…"

Before they could make it to the bed, Veronica's voice rings out through the house. "Papa Bear? Q? You guys home? We brought adult snacks and more teal pumpkin presents!"

Wallace dropped his head on to Mac's shoulder with a groan. "We weren't fast enough."

Sticking her head into the hall, the brunette called back in a similarly singsong voice. "We're changing into our costumes. Be out in a minute!" Smirking, she pulled her boyfriend into the bedroom and locked the door. "Guess we'll just have to see how quick you can actually be..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt of the day: fright


	30. Happy Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my final chapter, have a look inside the fun-times that are the ER on Halloween with another chapter in the medical AU started in chapter 8 and continued in chapters 18 and 24.
> 
> This chapter combines the last 2 days worth of prompts: trick and treat.

“Trick or treat, Dr. Mars?” Veronica's eyebrow raised as she turned to the familiar voice behind her.  Holding up two charts, one in each hand, he waggled his eyebrows towards her before moving out of the doorway to the doctors’ office and into her personal space.

“In this ER, that’s a loaded statement, _Dr. Echolls_.” she replied, emphasizing his title. It was unusual for him to use her title unless he was in front of patients or their families, and the juxtaposition of him using her title while being so close to her was disconcerting. The blonde took a step back and slowly released the breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Also, weren’t you supposed to be off tonight? I thought I was working with Casey tonight?”

“On chart number,” he ignores her questions completely and glances at the triage info on the front page before shaking it lightly in his hand, “17 we have an old woman with shortness of breath and a slew of cardiac and pulmonary issues.”

She grabbed the other chart from his hand, glancing at the intake information before snorting. “And on chart number 36 we have a pregnant woman with vaginal bleeding and a problem staying sober.” She hands the second chart back and snags the first from him. “You have a way with the ladies, Logan, and from what I hear, enjoy a good pelvic exam.”

Turning on her heels, she beelines out of the office before calling back over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to take the nurse with you when you go. Give good pelvic and you might score a date with…” It takes a moment for Veronica to decipher the mess that is the nurse assignment board. “Madison. She’s been after you for weeks, after all.”

Logan watched her go, a knowing smirk on his face. The next few hours passed quickly in the Halloween night rush. Drunks brought in for clearance by the police and multiple people tripping hard on drugs they took at a party without knowing what they were. Sorority girls insisting on plastic surgeons being called to sew their lacerated foreheads after they fall off too-high heels, and angering when their personal plastic surgeons don’t return their calls. A couple cases of illegal fireworks gone wrong, and one attempted suicide by Satanic ritual.

Releasing a heavy sigh as she sank into her chair beside him, Veronica slapped another clipboard onto her pile. “Happy Halloween.” she muttered, more to herself than to the man beside her.

“One of the best I’ve had in years.” He leans back in his chair, dropping the Dragon mic beside his keyboard. “I mean, who doesn’t love getting to chart on… “Slutty Belle #1 _and_ #3, Inflatable Superman, Toy T-Rex, and the one Wallace labeled ‘Either Deadpool or Spiderman’ before going to sew up SexyNurse #3—real name, Amber, by the way—who tries to take a selfie with me for #ImAtMyScariestWhen _while I have a needle in her head_ , then rolling into the next room to stop a drunk from wailing on the nurse trying to start his IV to sober him up. Haven’t seen this much action on Halloween in… years.”

“That much of a dry spell, eh? And here I thought you were such a ladies' man.” Veronica smirked at him. The banter had become easier as the night wore on; it’s too busy and stressful an atmosphere to continue  “Well, I raise your slutty Belle and other assorted characters for a twofer drunk driving with multiple fractures—hope Dick enjoys that one in surgery tonight—, a naked tweaker we had to get off the ceiling-mounted pelvic light—should have called you in for that one—, on top of the expected fun with not one but two! Stay Puft marshmallow men, a Slutty Thor—I’m kinda proud I figured that one out, since he left his hammer somewhere he probably shouldn’t have been, but don’t worry, I treated him for that too, just in case—and three Disney princesses—Mulan, Pocahontas, and whatever one is that shoots bows and arrows now. We did have to take those away from her, though.”

Both shook their heads and turned back to their respective computers, clicking through their charts, checking labwork and continuing charting.

They didn’t make it very far before a nurse poked her head into the office. “Got one about 3 minutes out, unresponsive, hypotensive, being bagged. Heading for trauma 1. Who’s up?” She didn’t actually wait for an answer to her obviously rhetorical question.

With a sigh, Veronica stood up. “They’re singing my song.”

Looking up from his charting, Logan quirked an eyebrow. “Want some help?”

“Nah, I got it. Hopefully a little naloxone and they’ll be right as rain. I’m leaving the rest of the ER in your hands, though, so make sure it’s cleared out by the time I'm done, ok?”

Logan chuckled and gave a mock salute. “Don’t blow it, Mars.”

Backtracking a few steps, she leaned over the back of his chair, propping her chin on his shoulder before whispering in his ear. “I only blow when asked. Nicely.”

Before he could turn to see her, she was gone.                                                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Huge thanks to AdorkableAuthor for putting this together. It's been a fun challenge! :D Thank you all for reading, and I love feedback--kudos, comments, etc.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr, @theshortywrites, if you want to chat, see my fandom and other stuff I'm working on, or want to give me some prompts!


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